


Just Get Me To The Church On Time

by FailureArtist



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Affably Evil, Alcoholic Sodas, Ancestor-Era, Caretaking, F/M, Fluff, Pale Porn, Possible historical inaccuracies since the troll tech tree doesn't make sense, hangovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-27 00:11:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8379874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FailureArtist/pseuds/FailureArtist
Summary: The Heiress Meenah Piexes is set to be the first Imperious Condescension...if only she can get off the floor. Luckily, her moirail Arch-Bitchup Kurloz is there to help.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: This is a story about hangovers, and hangovers can get gross. Actual alcohol does not appear in this fic but soda is treated as alcohol. Condesce says bigoted things but she is troll Hitler.

The newly-ordained Arch-Bitchup Kurloz Makara stomped along the hallways of the Heiress Palace to find the entrance to her Condescension's private quarters. Outside stood a small troop of servants looking nervous.

"What the MOTHERFUCK is occurring here?" Makara asked.

"Your Amusement," said the Prime Lady-in-Waiting with a curtsy, "Her Condescension has locked herself in her quarters and changed the password."

The hairdresser added, "We've tried every spelling of 'password' we could think of!"

And the pedicurist added, "And we tried curse words!"

Makara groaned. "Let me have a try at it."

The servants moved away from the keyboard and Makara moved in. He typed in "swordfish" and the door light went green. He was not at all surprised his first guess worked. He opened the door a little only to turn to his nervous audience.

"Now," he said, "Don't y'all rush in. She obviously doesn't want you chucklefucks in here. This is a motherfucking moirail moment."

"Yes, your Amusement!" they chanted.

Makara went through the antechamber into the main chamber. What he encountered was a mess. The furniture was overturned. The cushions had been shredded. The radio was broken. Expensive glass artwork lay in shards. Junk food wrappers littered the place. The empty cans of soda told the story. In the middle of it, curled up next to a stain, was the Heiress. He knelt down beside her. He wondered if the fuchsiablood had managed against all odds to kill herself but then he heard her breathing.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Her eyes opened. "Water yah t'ink?"

"I mean is your motherfuckin' ass expiring?"

She groaned. "Only eels like it."

"Meenah, Meenah, Meenah."

"It's Condesce now, buoy."

"Condy, what did you do?"

"Got drunk and wrecked my block. End 'a story."

He looked at the ceiling and sighed. "I knew I should have stayed with your delinquent ass after the party."

"I don't need yah to tuck me in."

"But you need me to keep you from desecrating your quarters."

"Who cares? I ain't gonna live here no more."

"And I could have kept you from drinking so much."

"Hey, you tied one on too at the party. How much soda did yah drink?"

Makara patted his stomach. "I'm motherfucking bigger than you. Plus I deceased my drinking after the party. Looks like you drank an additional six-pack."

"Two eight-packs. Can't yah count?"

"And you gorged yourself."

"Ugh, I feel so fat."

"You're not fat."

"I'm a whale. A beached whale. Finished."

"Don't say that. You ain't gonna get beached on my watch. Speaking of..." He took out his codpiece watch. "We got only an hour."

"The wall clock says we got five hours."

"You BROKE the wall clock."

"Oh, glub, I did."

He held out his hand. "Can you get up?"

"Yeah," she said as she sat up, "but if yah offerin' help, I'm takin' it."

Makara offered his shoulder and Condy took it. He slowly pulled themselves up.

"Tanks, mah subject."

"Not a motherfucking problem, Condy."

She then covered her mouth. "Oh glub, I'm gonna puke. Get me to the toliet NOW!"

Makara lifted up Condy and rushed her into the hygieneblock. He placed her next to the toilet and she immediately started vomiting. Her hair resisted pulling back but her moirail tried anyway.

When she was done, she groaned, "This be why I'm eatin' so much. I kelp pukin' up that shit."

"We need to get you some water in you."

"That's somefin good to throw up."

When he went to the mini-icebox in the main block, it was both empty and broken. He went back to the hygieneblock, took the rinse cup by the sink and washed off the fangpaste residue. He pumped the cup with water and brought it over to his moirail.

"Drink this," he said.

She wrinkled her nose. "Is that from the sink?"

"At least it ain't from the toilet."

She drank the six ounces of water in the cup and then had another cup. This wasn't as much as she needed to drink but it was something. She needed another type of water too.

"We need to get you in the shower."

"Just drag me in."

"You gotta get the threadage off."

"Riptide 'em off. I'm the motha fuckin' empress, I can get new clothes."

"Nah, I know you'll be wanting those jeans later. Your ass looks too motherfucking fine in them."

"Okay, but the shirt is a fuckin' rag."

Makara undressed his moirail. Her slippers were thankfully easy to take off. The anchor-themed socks were also easy. It was her tight black jeans that caused the problem but eventually he got it off. He wasn't too prudish to take off her thong. The half-shirt with the sequined words "SLUT QUEEN" was easy to rip off but Makara bemoaned its loss. Her red sports bra was hard to take off but not impossible. Eventually, she was naked except for jewelry but Makara wasn't going to part it from her.

With her undressed, he took off his shirt but nothing else. He turned the crank to get the water going in the shower and when it was blasting, he went back to Condy.

"Ugh," she said, "turn off the thunderstorm."

"Sorry, it's SHOWER TIME."

"Okay, water good."

Makara helped Condy up and took her to the shower. When she touched the water, she jumped back, almost falling over.

"Ahh, it's cold!"

"So are you, bitch. Grow some globes."

"I can glubbin' swim the fathoms, tank yah very much, the shower just starfishled me. Turn the fucka off scale-peeling."

Makara fiddled with the pipes until the stream was softer. She returned to the water.

"Now flippa me some bath gel."

Makara opened the cabinet under the sink. "Which scent?"

"Fuuuuck...I don't care."

He took a bath gel, thoughtfully opened it, and handed it to her.

"Blood orange?" she asked, "Yah would chose that."

She squeezed a generous amount in her hand and quickly rubbed it over herself before washing it off.

"Good choice, Makara," she said, "Go get me some shampoo."

"Which one?"

"Ugh! The biggest one. Just unscrew it and pour the whole motha fucka on."

Makara took a gallon jug of shampoo, opened it up, and poured the glittery goo on Condy's hair. When it was all out, he lathered her hair.

"Oh glub, massage that scalp like a motha fucka," she moaned, "Don't fuckin' stop!"

"Do I have to do EVERY MOTHERFUCKING tress? We ain't got time."

"Fin! Mah hair is alwaves clean!"

She started rinsing out her hair. Then, he turned off the shower.

"Hey!" she cried, "I ain't done!"

He grabbed a bunch of pink towels. "Yes you are. Or you will be, if your ass doesn't make haste."

She got out of the shower and into Makara's towel. He rubbed her down with the towel. She squirmed in response.

"Ugh, the towels so rough!"

Makara asked, "This towel isn't fluffy enough for your tender wriggler skin, princess?"

"It's empress, motha fucka, and everyfin hurts when yah hungover."

"Okay, my tender empress."

He took a flag-sized towel and tried to dry Condy's majestic hair.

"You got too much motherfucking hair."

"Wrong, yah can't have too much hair. It'll dry."

"How? It should take three hours?"

"Watch."

Her almost-sentient hair writhed and shock and suddenly it was dry and clean. He stared wide-eyed at her.

"What? WHAT?" he sputter.

"It's a seadwella fin, palemate."

She took two giant ribbon and tied her hair into double ponytails for the time being.

Meanwhile, he took a fresh towel and wiped himself off. "Dressing block time," he said as he put back on his shirt.

They went to the adjacent dressing block. On seeing it, Makara gasped. Condesce rolled her eyes.

"I bet yah gonna glub aboat the lipstick on the wall," she huffed.

"I actually approve."

"Glad yah pike mah doddles, I think they suck barnacles. And is that Super Punk Pink? Did I waste mah favorite shade fo' on this? Fuck."

She stumbled over the ottoman in the middle of the block, knelt in front of it, and laid her head down. Meanwhile, Makara ventured into the walk-in closet.

"Where the motherfuck are your motherfuckin' coronation vestments located?"

"In the closet."

"But where? It's a motherfuckin' jungle in here." He pawed through some clothes. "Motherfucker could DIE here."

Condesce got herself up and went to the doorway of the closet.

"Yah blind cullbait," she said as she pointed to the back, "It's in the tall trunk in the back."

"Ohhh."

She then collapsed in the doorway.

"Now stop pawin' mah threads and open it."

He jogged over to the troll-sized vertical trunk in the back with a dial lock on.

"What's the motherfucking combination?" he asked.

"I don't knoll anymoray...I just remember it's five numbers and it's somefin somefin rumble spheres."

"I don't have time for a puzzle," he said as he ripped off the lock and the hinge.

Inside the trunk on hangers was the traditional coronation outfit: a red jacket, a white blouse, a calf-long red skirt, and many white petticoats. He sighed in relief.

"Thank the Messiahs you didn't DESECRATE this sacred vestments."

Condy got up and walked towards the trunk. "Codn't make that outfit worst. Be-seaside, I codn't get in."

He turned to her. "I can't motherfuckin' perceive why you'd get your hate on this clothing. It's a mighty red and that's your second favorite color after fuchsia."

She picked up a piece of the very red skirt. "Naw, it's pike mah third...no, fourth favorite color after gold and black. And this eyesore ain't got neither." She turned her hand to the petticoats. "Plus it has white...what shelf-respectin' troll wears white?"

"It does show them motherfuckin' blood stains better."

"And I hate this sill-sillu-bell shape thingy. I'll never wear ANYFIN pike this ever again, I swear on mah lusus' long and happy life."

He took the hangers out of the trunk. "Well you have to wear this tonight."

She laid on the floor. "Just throw it on top 'a me and tie it 'round me."

"You have to stand up, palemate."

"Gluuuuub," she said as she did so.

He handed her the petticoat hanger first.

"What aboat that motha fuckin' tight-ass corset and them itchy stockings? Don't they go on first?"

"Too much time. JUST PUT ON THE PETTICOATS."

She took the petticoat hanger and smiled. "Imagine what all those motha fuckahs would fink if they knew I had no-fin atoll under mah clothes."

"Clowns are alway free globing."

"Nasty-ass clowns."

She tried stepping into the petticoats but fell over. Her palemate gave her a shoulder to stand up on.

"There," he said, "But you got to remove the bracelets if you want to move on the blouse."

"I sea-pose I can put them back later."

She put the bracelets on the shelf. When she was done, she held out her hands and he put on the blouse. With a surprising speed, he did up the many white buttons.

"How'd'ja do that with them meaty flippahs?"

He buttoned the cravat into place. "Interrogations requires steady hands. Gotta cut in just the right places for just the right pain."

He tucked in the shirt. She held out her arms again as he put on the bolero.

"The sleeves are too glubbin' small," she whined, "The armpits are like on mah seacond grub scar, who the fuck has armpits that low?"

"You can get a ragripper later."

"Yeah, I'm gonna rip all the rags."

He buttoned the bolero. "What were you whinin' about? This got gold."

"Two gold buttons? Knot enough."

"Also has your first favorite color."

"A dark pink sign on red? It don't work."

Makara wrapped the red skirt around the petticoats and buttoned it all the way down.

"I pike seain' yah keel, palemate."

He looked at her still bare feet and looked at the barren trunk.

"You got them motherfucking heels coordinated for this, right?"

She snorted. "Heels be for short gills wit' no asses. I ain't gonna stumble around in them when I'm sea-pose to motha fuckin' glide up to that throne."

"Not even small heels?"

She rolled her eyes. "Glub, that's worse, neither fish nor sea mammal. Just hand me some slip-ons."

"No socks?"

"Mah feet never smell."

He got her some gold slip-ons and put them on her feet, with the help of her hand on his back. She took the bracelets out of the trunk and tried putting them on.

"Damn," she said, "They don't fit over all mah clothes."

"Aren't you supposed to wear motherfucking pearls with this outfit?"

"Ugh, pearls be just clam lougies."

"Oyster."

"Water-evah. Point is they ain't gold."

She did manage to get them on even though she had to scrunch up the blouse and jacket.

"There," she said, "Gold. This fuckin' outfit is finished."

"What I don't motherfucking get, palemate, is you musta signed off on all this shit."

She yelled in his face. "TRA-FISHIN IS IM-SEA-PORT-ANT!" She backed down. "Or at least it was a perigee segment. It's a lady's prerogative to change her mind, especially wit' clothes."

"Ninjaettes." He sighed. "Anyway, let's get some happy paint on that sad face."

They left the closet for the dressing block and despite her wearing flats, she walked unsteadily. The vanity table took up an entire wall. There were three mirrors on it. In front of it was the swivel chair where Condy collapsed, only for the chair to move.

"Ahh, stop this ride, I don't wanna puke again."

Makara stopped its rotation when it was turned towards him. "You couldn't SURVIVE a real wicked amusement park."

"Not when I'm hungover."

He opened a drawer and among other things was a white smock. That was put around her drooping neck. The mirrors had more lipstick scribbles so he wiped them off with a tissue, though some streaks were left. He went to feed the glow-worm bulbs above the vanity when she yelled, "Don't glubbin' turn up them lights or I'll krill you."

"But I need to see that face in the most motherfucking clarity."

"Nobody at the coronation will shine all that light on me."

He shrugged. "Guess we got enough light."

"Too much already," she groaned.

"Where's your powder?"

"Right in front 'a yah."

The powder tin was open and turned upside down but he righted it. He took a powder puff and put on a generous amount of grey powder.

"Close your motherfucking holes and eyes tight."

"I don't pike powder."

"CLOSE THEM."

Her eyelids obediently dropped down. He applied the powder thickly but evenly over her face. She sneezed two time then opened her eyes. She sneered at the images of the three trolls in front of her.

"I don't pike mah face all super grey pike this."

"Did you see how motherfucking pale and sickly you looked before?"

"But it's so glubbin' flat. Can't yah do contour?"

"No time."

"Then I'll have a glubbin' clown mask! Waterevah! Just give mah pucker some color."

He looked around the table at the empty and half-empty lipstick pots. "Don't got much color to pucker."

"Black is alwaves is fishion."

"You got ten motherfuckin' blacks here."

"Deadly Black."

He managed to find that shade and he applied it carefully to his moirail's lips.

"Not as black as I thought it would be," she said, "But it'll do." She gently blotted it with a tissue.

"How about your ocular region?"

"Gold," she said with a grin.

He managed to find mascara, eyeliner, and eye shadow in that color. Carefully, he applied them to her sensitive eyes. In the end, he stepped back and admired his work.

"You look like motherfucking WICKED, my empress," he said.

When she opened her eyes and looked in the mirrors, she had an entirely different opinion.

"No, no, no, glub, this don't work."

"What do you mean this doesn't work?"

"Maybe it works in clowny town but it ain't working here. I just look...dusty. And it's reely bringing out the red in my eyes."

He groaned. "You ASKED for this color, bitch."

"I thought this would make me look pike a billion caegars but..." She put her head on the vanity. "I don't look pike knottin'."

Sobbing noises came from her hands. Her alarmed moirail grabbed some makeup wipes.

"You hate it that much?" he asked, "Let me just get it off and we do something simple -"

She raised her head, showing her smeared gold makeup and pink tears.

"It's knot the fuckin' makeup," she growled, "Well it is that but it's also..it's also..."

"What? Is it some motherfucker we can change? What do you want to do?"

She pounded the table. "I CAN'T DO THIS GLUBBIN' SHIT! NONE 'A IT!"

"Condy, we gotta..."

"I know I gotta do this glubbin' shit, this is the glubbin' shit I been preparin' for all mah glubbin' life, but I just can't do this fishshit coronation finny."

"You got yourself through the Duel, that's the hard part."

"Yeah, that was a rock hard shell, but this is glubbin' diamonds! I love fightin'! The duel was just like a game and I beat it! But now it's reel and I gotta be empress, I heard on the radio yesterday I was gonna be empress and I just...ugh!"

She threw a pot of gold makeup at the already marked-up wall.

"I don't knoll if I can be empress, I gotta lot 'a ideas for this crappy empire but I don't knoll if I can change it completely! I'm not just the 413th empress, I'm not another Imperial Compassion, I am the FIRST Imperious Condescension!"

"The title Compassion was a joke before you were born, princess. This empire is already in the change and you just got to push it a little further in the direction it always supposed to be. The weak little flybugs were always meant to serve the strong shellbeasts."

"It's true, all that's true, but can I reely enforce that path on the people? Root out the gimps and idiots and mutants? Wipe out the limebloods? Break out of this crummy planet and take the stars?"

Her moirail patted her on the shoulder. "You can kick all that wicked shit AND MORE if you believe in yourself. And one night, the folks won't remember the bad old way."

She took a makeup wipe and got rid of the gold makeup triumphantly. "I'll outlive every motha fuckah there is."

"And I'll be there to subjugate with you forever."

She wrinkled her brow. "Yah mean for the first couple thousand sweeps, right? Because yah are still a purpleblood."

He shrugged. "Could be more sweeps. Miracles do happen."

"Yah betta get yourshelf to Grand Highblub soon."

"In time, palemate, in time."

"Fo' now, flippa me the fuchsia mascara."

"You want to be your own makeup artist?"

"Don't got the time fo' anyfin else."

So Condesce did a servicible job at repeating her normal look.

"How do I look?" she asked.

"Like the motherfucking empress of this whole universe."

"What, even wit' all the hangovah and rushin' I look good?"

"Palemate, you never not look like the motherfucking empress of the universe to me."

"Aww, flatterah."

She held his hands while she got up. Their eyes, one pair purple and the other pair fuschia, met together. She stood on her tip toes a second to give a kiss on his cheek, faint enough not to ruin either of their faces but enough to give off a pale feeling. When she went back on the balls of her foot, she rocked a bit and fell into him.

"This be why I don't wear heels...at lest not when I'm hungovah."

She took off the smock and let her hair down. She posed in front of the mirrors before walking out to the main block.

"I fucked around yesterday," she declared, "But I'm swimmin' on time now!"

Her moirail pulled out his codpiece watch as he followed her. "Actually, we're thirty whole minutes behind schedule."

"Oh glub."

"We probably should have bantered less."

"You and yah big mouth."

Condesce walked out of her private heiress quarters for the last time in her life and her moirail followed her. The troop of servants were delighted to see her and circled around her.

"Your Condescension," said her Prime Lady-in-Waiting with barely-contained excitement, "Your buggy is here."

Her Imperious Condescension turned to the Arch-Bitchup Makara and made the diamond sign with her hands. He flashed it back.

"Knock them dead, bitch."

The servants were uncomfortable with this line but Condesce was pleased.

"Back at yah," she replied.

She then disappeared with her entourage. Her path would take her downstairs and out the door into the waiting buggy. She would ride with her four Lady-in-Wadding until she got to the Central Worshiperrium of Our Mother Grub. The Dolorosa would give her the crown. Only then would his Meenah truly be Her Imperious Condescension.  
  
Meanwhile, the lowly subjuggulator bitchup was to watch. It was too early for the Family to get involved with Imperial ceremony. Yet the future Grand Highblood had secretly played a very important part. He'd been playing a part in this ceremony ever since it met the Heiress when they were just wigglers. He had gotten her the worshiperium.

As he walked away, he took out a small mirror and check himself. His facepaint needed patching up. No matter. It wasn't his face that was important. Her's would be on the money.

 


End file.
